Between a Rock and a Winchester
by el spirito
Summary: TeenChester; Sam 14, Dean 18. Dean gets tired of being in the middle of John and Sam's arguing.
1. Chapter 1

"Sammy, Dean, load up boys, we've got a hunt to go on." Dean nodded and immediately shouldered his bag, holding Sam's out to him. Sam groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Dad-"

"Listen Sammy, it's only going to be a day or two, should be a simple salt and burn. You'll only miss a day of school, max."

"But Dad, I have a test tomorrow, and we're going on a field trip-'

"End of discussion, Sam. I said _load up._" Sam groaned again, giving John his best death glare. Dean grinned at him.

"Buck up, Samantha," he muttered, slapping a hand on Sam's shoulder, but Sam shrugged him off and glared at him, too. Dean just laughed at him.

John hadn't really expected anything different from his sons, but he had been hoping that maybe Sam would actually have a good attitude for once…He knew that Sam didn't understand that he was trying to teach his boys, that he wanted Sam to be able to handle things like this on his own, that he wouldn't always be there, damn it, but Sam was just worried about school, worried about missing a stupid _test_…Sometimes he felt like he was in way over his head.

"Dad. I'm driving, right?" Dean asked, coming up behind his father and swinging his keys. John blinked, startled from his thoughts, and focused on his oldest son.

"Sure Dean," he answered, and Dean grinned, punching Sam in the arm as his younger brother walked past.

"Jerk," Sam muttered, and Dean laughed, loudly.

"Bitch," he called back, walking joyfully to the Impala that he cherished practically more than anything in the world. Climbing into the seat, he started the car up and revved the engine, closing his eyes and relishing the noise and the smell of his baby…His reverie was interrupted when John and Sam came out of the motel room, arguing loudly about the hunt. Dean sighed and turned up the radio, hoping to give his family a hint, hey, Dean here, kind of tired of hearing you guys argue _all the freaking time_, so if you want to stop now, I'd be okay with that. Of course, it didn't work.

"Sam, if I hear you sigh one more time, I swear that you are going to regret it, you get me?"

"Whatever," Sam muttered under his breath, and Dean could see John's temper flaring.

"Samuel-"

"Hey," Dean interrupted, turning the key in the ignition. "I'm feeling like some Metallica, how 'bout you guys?" Not very subtle, but effective. Sam groaned at the music choice and John fell silent. Dean knew that his dad would be pissed about his interruption and would probably give him a lecture later, but he was content enough with the lack of fighting to not care.

They drove in silence for a few hours, the light slowly beginning to turn to darkness.

"How much further, Dad?"

"We're just about there, Sam. Dean, take the next exit then I'll give you directions." Dean nodded and took the exit, hoping that they could settle this thing fast enough to get Sammy home in time to go to school the next morning, but he wasn't sure how likely that was. Probably not very. Still, he was willing to try.

"Next left, Dean, then go straight for a bit. We'll park over there," John said, indicating with his hand where Dean should go. Dean pulled into the parking lot, realizing as he did so that they appeared to be at a small butte, signs for hiking trails around and a small playground nearby.

"Hikers getting eaten, Dad?" He asked, eyebrows raised, and John shook his head.

"Nope. A woman disappeared here 'bout five years ago and hikers have been 'accidentally' falling to their deaths. Sounds like her ghost is doin' some damage so I figure we find her body and salt n' burn her then get outta here." Sam snorted.

"Yeah, 'cause it's gonna be that easy," he muttered, and John glared at him.

"I did do some research, Sam, I know about where to look."

"Oh, that's great, now we can look around for the remains of someone while their ghost tries to annihilate us. Awesome."

"Samuel! I don't need your freaking negative attitude. I suggest you change it or you'll be missing a lot more school than one day. You hear me?" Sam didn't reply, staring sullenly at the ground.

"I _said_, did you hear me?"

"I heard you. _Sir_," Sam said, and Dean could see how hard John was working not to smack his brother in the face. Couldn't they do anything without fighting?

"Come on Dad, let's go get this done so we can get back," Dean suggested hopefully, sighing in relief when his dad nodded and motioned for them to go. Dean tucked his favorite bowie into the sheath at his side, holstering a pistol before picking up a large sawed-off. John was similarly equipped, and Sam had a small caliber handgun.

"Okay, let's go," John said, and Sam and Dean followed behind as they headed up the trail.

"Sam," Dean said quietly. They were far enough behind their father that he couldn't hear their conversation, and Sam seemed to realize that he wanted to talk in private.

"Yeah?" He answered, slowing to match Dean's pace.

"Sammy, you've gotta stop arguing so much," Dean said, and Sam glared at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He demanded angrily. "Just because I actually have the balls to question some of his decisions doesn't mean-"

"Sam, can't you just listen to what he says for once? He knows what he's doing!"

"Dean, he's been dragging us around on hunts since you were ten years old. Is that a good father? We should be in bed right now, resting up for tests! You should be in college, thinking about marriage, not on some stupid vendetta against some demon! Don't you ever want to be normal?" Sam was yelling now, and Dean's temper seemed to rise with it. He had to restrain himself from hitting his brother.

"Sam! He's your dad, damn it! Can't you act like part of this friggin' family for once in your damn life? Come on!" Dean ranted, and Sam lost it completely.

"No! I hate this family, Dean! I hate being here, I hate Dad, and I can't wait to leave! You hear me? I am getting out of here first chance I get, Dean. Now get off my freaking back and leave me the hell alone," he yelled, and Dean watched as Sam stomped away. He knew that John had probably heard a good majority of the last bit as both he and Sam had been shouting by the end, knew that tonight would be just another in a string of tense, awkward hunts, knew that Sam was telling the truth when he said he was leaving. Why the hell couldn't things be easy? Why couldn't their family just function like a family? Why-

Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a ghost, clearly the one they were looking for, a woman who looked at him angrily. Startled, Dean raised the shotgun, but was tossed aside like nothing. He couldn't help but scream as his back connected painfully with the rocks jutting out of the ground.

"Dean! Dean!" It was John, and Sam's voice could be heard repeating his name frantically. It took a second for Dean to regain enough oxygen to shout back, and by that point his dad was nearly on top of him.

"Dean, are you okay?" John shouted, approaching him quickly.

"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine," Dean murmured, but he was clearly dazed and had had the wind knocked out of him.

"Dad, I told you this was a bad idea! Now Dean's hurt and it's your fault!" Sam was shouting, and Dean could hear the fear that was tinting his words.

"No, Sam, I'm okay," Dean tried to assure, but Sam wasn't hearing him, and now John and Sam were arguing again, apparently forgetting that Dean was down and that it had been the fault of a ghost.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, trying to get their attention, but neither of them looked at him. "Hey!" He repeated, getting frustrated. He struggled to get to his feet, wincing at the shooting pain that erupted in his back and fell back to his knees before he could get his balance. It took him another effort to gain his footing, going completely unnoticed by both his father and Sam. Finally, he'd had enough.

"Look, let's just go find those bones, okay? Just shut the hell up and quit arguing!" Both Sam and John looked at him with open mouths, clearly stunned by his outburst, but he ignored them, stubbornly shoving past them though his back was aching fiercely and he knew that he should probably tell them. Not that he would; they didn't need something else to argue about, who was responsible, whether they should leave now or later…endless possibilities. Yeah, didn't want to go down that road.

It didn't actually take as long as he'd anticipated to find the bones, for which Dean was grateful as he was beginning to feel lethargic now as well as achy. He watched as his dad uncovered the bones, then looked towards Sam.

"Look out!" He yelled as the ghost suddenly appeared again behind his little brother. "Sammy!" Dean cried, as Sam was thrown into a tree, head connecting with a sickening thud.

"Sam!" John yelled, barreling towards his younger son, yelping as rocks and branches started flying at him. Damn, this was one pissed off ghost. Dean finally collected himself enough to pick up the salt, scrambling for the shotgun as his Dad's flew out of his hands. When the hell had this gone so downhill? Just a salt and burn, and now Sammy was unconscious and John was in a tight spot. A sudden yell from his dad and Dean saw that a branch had impaled his leg, sprouting out of his thigh.

"Dad! No!" Dean yelled, finally grasping the shotgun and mercilessly firing a round off into the ghost. She screamed and disappeared, and Dean scrambled to his father's side.

"Dad, you okay?" John nodded, setting his jaw as Dean wrapped his own flannel jacket around the branch in an attempt to staunch the blood flow.

"Hang on, I'm gonna check on Sammy," Dean said, running to his brother's side. Sam had yet to come around, a trickle of blood flowing down his face.

"Sam?" He asked quietly, shaking his brother's shoulder. Sam didn't respond, and Dean started checking for other wounds. Satisfied that there were none, he gently picked him up and carried him over to John's side. He couldn't help the grimace at the pain that spread through his back as he set Sammy down, and John's scrutinizing face let him know that John hadn't missed it either.

"You need to get checked out, Dean," John murmured, motioning his oldest to him. Dean shook his head, and John frowned. "Now, Dean." But it came out as a breathy whisper and Dean had no problem ignoring him as he tried to tend to his brother's wounds.

Sam was still unconscious, and Dean could see now that John was out as well. Sighing, Dean pulled out his cell phone, knew that there was no way in hell he could get both Sam and John out of there in time to do either of them any good.

The medics arrived in good time, for which Dean was thankful. Sam had finally started to move, but he was clearly in pain, whimpering and weakly covering his eyes with one hand. Dean had rubbed his forehead with his thumb as Mary had always done for him, keeping his other hand clamped firmly on John's leg. The pain in his own back had dulled to a steady throb, and by the time the med team got there, he was feeling much better than he had before.

He answered their questions with the usual stories, though it was a bit tricky convincing them that it was perfectly normal to be hiking around at midnight on a school night when they were working on an astrology project and had wanted to see the stars. They had shrugged and accepted it, loaded Sam carefully into the back of one ambulance, John into another, allowing Dean to ride with Sam.

"You okay, kid?" A paramedic asked, glancing at Dean over Sam's still body.

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean answered, and he'd had enough practice covering things up to make it believable.

"You sure?"

"I said I'm good, okay? Just take care of my brother." The medic shrugged and turned his attention back to Sam. Dean sighed, wondering how bad it would be, but knowing without any doubt that both Sammy and his dad would be okay, because they were _always_ okay. That didn't stop the guilt at his failure in protecting his little brother from growing in the back of his mind until he almost couldn't handle it. Then they were pulling into the hospital and John was already in the ER and Sam was being unloaded and Dean followed behind because that was all he could do.

xxxx

John woke groggily, lifting a hand and realizing that it was full of IVs and tubes, and he was in a hospital. Dean must have taken care of things, then. Speaking of Dean…where the hell were his sons? He peered into the vague darkness of his room and reached for the call button, worry over Sam, blood-covered and still and lying on the ground dominating his thoughts.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester, you're awake earlier than we thought," a nurse said, bustling happily into the room. John looked at her groggily. Why the hell was she using his real name? "You just got out of surgery an hour ago. You'll be fine, but we're gonna need to keep you for a bit to let you regain your strength and watch for infection. You had some blood loss, you know."

"Where are my boys?" John asked, voice raspy, and _there_ was the pain that he realized had been dulled by drugs, his thigh starting to pulse.

"They're fine," the nurse said, smiling again. "Sam had a pretty bad concussion, we're keeping him overnight for observation, and Dean hasn't left his side all night. He's sleeping in Sam's room." Something about that seemed very wrong to John and it took him a moment to think through the haze enough to realize that his oldest son had been thrown onto _rocks_ by a pissed off ghost and that he hadn't been looked at, and the nurse was calling them all by their real names. Dean knew better than that, he _knew better. _And then panic set in.

"Have you looked at Dean?" He demanded, and the nurse seemed startled.

"He assured us he was fine-"

"You need to look at him,' John persisted, voice insistent. "You _need to look at my son, you understand me?" The nurse nodded, flipping out a phone._

"_Umm, yeah, Tammy? Can you do me a favor? Yeah. Yeah, I need you to look in on Sam Winchester's brother. He's sleeping in the same room as Sam. Yeah. Give me a call, okay? His dad's insisting we check him out. Okay." She hung up and gave John a look._

"_Happy , Mr. Winchester? Maybe you'll get some rest now." John didn't reply, waiting for the phone call that would make his worries pointless. He didn't even care that the nurse thought he was an overbearing father, he would be fine with them making fun of him for being overprotective-as soon as he knew for sure. The ringing of the phone startled both of them and the nurse picked up quickly. John watched impatiently, dread settling around his heart as her face drained of all color. _

"_What? What is it? What the hell is going on?" He demanded. The nurse ignored him, nodding then hanging up. _

"_You're going to need to stay here," she said, and then John heard the trauma alert over the intercom, heard the announcement to get to room 450, and he knew the fourth floor was the pediatrics floor, and panic overwhelmed him now. Holy crap…what the hell had he done?_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So thanks for all the reviews! This chapter has some Dean, a lot of John and Sam.

Disclaimer: I realized I forgot this, so, uh, I don't own any of them.

Sam hated concussions. He had had enough experience with them to know that he had to be woken every hour or so, but he was so tired…He had woken in a blind panic in the ER, the chaotic sounds and actions around him freaking him out to the point where he had started to hyperventilate. His brother was nowhere to be seen and he couldn't find his dad either, and Sam had felt the prick of a needle then the blackness that he knew meant he had been sedated.

He'd been woken once already, had looked around groggily until his eyes settled on the sleeping form of his brother, curled up on the small bed beneath the room's window. After that he'd dropped off quickly, relieved and comforted by his brother's presence.

Now, as a nurse walked into the room, turning the dim lights up in the process, Sam groaned, certain that she had woken him no more than fifteen minutes previous.

"Hour already?" He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes, but he was surprised when the nurse ignored him and addressed his brother. What the hell?

"Dean?" The nurse said, reaching out to touch his brother on the shoulder. "Dean?" There was no response, and suddenly Sam was wide awake and scared. Why wasn't Dean answering her? Maybe he was just really tired. Or maybe he was hurt. Sam flashed back to their hunt, to Dean falling, crashing into the rocks…Damn.

"Dean!" This time it was said more forcefully, was followed by some rough shaking, and Sam found himself hoping for some kind of response. When none came, panic gripped his heart. Apparently, the nurse felt the same way. She rolled Dean onto his back, gasping as she saw how pale he was. Sam stared, open-mouthed, as she knuckled Dean's sternum and got no response, then checked his pulse and breathing. Her face paled, and she quickly stood and hit the call button behind Sam's bed.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded, pushing himself upright. "What's happening?" The nurse stepped into the hallway, again ignoring Sam.

"We need a trauma team in here!" She shouted, and Sam completely panicked.

"What the hell is happening?" He screamed, overwhelmed as the nurse rushed back in and made a quick phone call, then started inspecting Dean. A doctor came in too. The nurse pulled something down off the wall next to Sam's head, then placed it over Dean's mouth and nose and started squeezing, and Sam finally realized that it was an oxygen bag. Was Dean even breathing? What the hell was going on?

"Hey!" Sam shouted, trying to get their attention, but they were completely focused on his brother, too still and too pale on the bed.

"We've got massive swelling of the abdomen," the doctor said as they gently tilted Dean onto his side. "Bad bruising of the back. Damn it, I think it's his kidneys." His kidneys? Sam started to feel queasy. His kidneys? He knew that was bad. Suddenly, the room was thrust into chaos. The trauma team arrived around the same time John did, hauling his IV pole behind him, limping badly and blood soaking through his hospital gown. Sam started sobbing as Dean was shifted to a gurney, John yelling, a nurse trying to quiet him, Sam screaming, a nurse finally seeing him and trying to soothe him, and through it all, Dean , too still and too pale, not moving.

"He's bottoming out, we've got to get him to an OR," a doctor said, and Dean was whisked away from them. The room became quiet aside from Sam's sobs and John's muttered cursing.

"What the hell just happened?" John demanded of the nurse who had entered the room with him. He was listing to one side, clutching at the wall for support, but staring at the nurse with fire in his eyes, unwilling to give into his body's demands until he had an answer. The nurse looked down guiltily.

"He's bleeding internally," she answered quietly, and Sam's sobs grew louder. "It appears that he damaged his kidneys."

"You mean to tell me," he said, in a dangerously low, calm voice that Sam had only heard once or twice before, "that my son has been lying there, bleeding to death, for two hours?" His voice cracked on the word death, and even through his own fear, he could tell that his father was barely holding it together.

"I'm sorry," the nurse whispered finally, and John slid down the wall as his strength left him entirely. The nurse moved to help him up, but John angrily waved her off.

Suddenly, Sam realized that he needed his dad, needed what little family he had, needed to just be with someone. "Dad," he cried, realizing that he sounded like a baby, but not caring. This was _Dean._ Crying was allowed. John carefully levered himself up again, limping over to Sam's side and painfully sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Come 'ere son," he whispered, and Sam allowed himself to fall into his father's arms, listening to the whispered words of comfort, taking solace in the thumb that gently stroked over his forehead and hair.

"He's gonna be okay, right?" Sam muttered tearfully into John's shirt, and the gentle stroking faltered for a minute.

"Of course," John answered finally, but his voice wavered, and now Sam realized that his father was trembling. He was _scared._ His dad was scared.

Sam cried himself to sleep.

xxxx

It was hours before they heard anything. John had grudgingly allowed his leg to be re-stitched and bandaged, but the nurse had had to do it around Sam's shuddering form as John had absolutely refused to allow anyone to move him or his son. Sam had slept uneasily, letting out shaky sighs and sometimes sobs that cut John to the quick, that made him think, again, just how terrible a father he was. Dean's ripped shirt had lain on the floor, the only sign that his son had been there, the AC/DC ripped partway between the D and the C, and John wondered vaguely why they'd torn it down the side and not the middle. Not that it mattered.

But it did matter. It mattered that his oldest son had had to have his shirt ripped off of him because of injury, because he had been hiding his wounds, because John had made him go on another hunt. Not for the first time, John angrily wondered why the _hell_ Dean hadn't said anything about his injuries, why he had opted instead to basically allow himself to die. Maybe he hadn't known? He doubted that.

"Mr. Winchester?" The doctor that entered the room looked older than he had when John had seen him rushing his son off to surgery, and that worried him. A lot. He considered waking Sam, quickly decided against it. If the news was bad, he would be the one giving it. Not some damn doctor.

"Dean?" John demanded, not trusting his voice to say anything else. The doctor sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

"It was close," he said, and John felt immense relief that at least his son was _alive_. It went away quickly as the doctor continued. "He'd lost a lot of blood. He was pretty deep in hypovalemic shock, and he was in full respiratory arrest by the time we got up to the OR." John didn't like the use of the past tense, as if his son was already gone, as if he hadn't just said it was _close_, not over. Not hopeless.

"We gave him blood and were able to stop the bleed. It was a relatively small tear, which explains why your son even lasted this long. If it was any bigger, he would have bled out completely." John gulped, subconsciously stroking Sam's long hair again, the contact with one of his sons soothing.

"We did, however, lose him once on the table, and he isn't breathing on his own yet." And John's world wavered and threatened to collapse, because as many hunts as they'd been in, as many scrapes and bruises and concussions and broken bones they'd gotten, none of them had ever forgotten something so basic as how to breathe. How to live. He was surprised by the tear that ran down his cheek, frowning as he lifted a hand full of tubes to wipe it off, suddenly petrified that his oldest son, his confidant and support, was gone.

"He'll be okay?" He asked quietly, his voice husky, and the doctor looked at him as if he must not have been listening, of course he wouldn't just be _okay._ His heart had stopped, for crying out loud.

"Hopefully, with time," the doctor answered guardedly, and John had the sudden urge to punch him in the face, to make him bleed and cry and hurt the way he did. The way Dean had.

"We're monitoring him closely. It's…it's unlikely that there will be any effects from the lack of oxygen to Dean's brain, but…it's still possible. We're also watching for pneumonia and infection, and though we managed to save both kidneys, we'll have to keep an eye on those too. And, of course, we hope that we'll be able to wean him off the ventilator soon, but again, we don't really know anything."

"So what you're saying is you don't know a damn thing about how he's doing," John growled, and the doctor nodded.

"Basically," he assented, and John cursed, closing his eyes in quiet despair. "I do know that your son put up one hell of a fight in the OR, and that counts for a lot. I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester." He stood up and walked out of the room, and John watched him go with tears in his eyes. Yeah, his son was a fighter. John just prayed it would be enough. He sat with Sammy, stroking his hair and forehead, wiping the tears from his cheeks, until he fell asleep.

xxxx

When Sam woke up the second time, his dad was still asleep, one hand curled in his hair, the other wrapped around his shoulders. Light was shining through the window, marking a new day, and Sam vaguely hoped that what he had seen last night was nothing more than a nightmare, a bad dream. Dean lying so quiet…

"Dad?" Sam whispered, not wanting to wake his father but needing to know. John stirred and cracked his eyes open. "Was it real?" Sam waited with bated breath, praying for his father to say no, to tell him that Dean was fine, had gone to get some coffee and would be right back. Instead, he nodded.

"Yeah, Sammy. It was real." Sam started crying again, damn he was such a girl, but John just wrapped his arms around him, bundling him into a huge hug.

"He's alive, Sam," John said into Sam's hair, and Sam looked up.

"Is he okay?" He asked, wiping a tear from his cheek.

"Not really, kiddo," John answered quietly, and Sam nodded, lower lip trembling. "He's in pretty bad shape, but the doctors are watching him. It'll be okay." Sam heard the quaver in his voice, knew that his dad was being optimistic, but hoped anyway that he was right. Of course Dean would be okay.

"Can we see him?" Sam asked, and John shrugged.

"Yeah, we probably could. I think you can be released today anyway, Sam, but they want to keep me for a bit longer." Sam blanched. Who would he be with? He supposed he could hang out at the hospital all day, alternate between his father and his brother, but he knew that that would get overwhelming.

"I called Bobby," John admitted, and Sam looked up at him with a frown.

"You did?" He asked questioningly, surprised. John nodded, clearly thinking about something.

"Listen, Sam," he began, and Sam knew that it was about what happened earlier, about the words he'd thrown out, words like _hate_ and _leave. _

"_Yeah?" He whispered, not wanting to fight._

"_We have to stop." It was said simply enough, but Sam knew what it meant. It meant we have to stop for Dean. It meant that Sam wasn't being blamed, that John realized that he was making mistakes too. _

"_I know," Sam murmured, fully aware of what their arguing had nearly cost them-might still cost them. He had come to the conclusion that Dean had hidden his injuries to avoid further fighting, was pretty sure that his dad had thought the same thing, and the guilt was nearly overwhelming. _

"_I'm sorry," John said quietly, and Sam was taken aback. His dad rarely, if ever, apologized about anything, and usually not willingly. Yet here he was, offering one up like he and Sam hadn't been fighting for a few years now, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sam knew he meant it. _

"_Me too," he responded, even hugging his dad a bit tighter. Just a little. _

_A knock on the door surprised both of them, then Bobby walked in, looking grim. _

"_Hey Sam," he said, then added under his breath, "John." Sam knew that they weren't on the best of terms, but the fact that the other hunter was here at all was a testament to his devotion to he and Dean. _

"_You been to see him?" John asked, completely ignoring the awkwardness between them. Bobby nodded. _

"_He, uh, he's looked better, John," he said quietly. "But he's alive." John nodded. _

"_I think Sammy and I might go up to see him later today." Sam saw Bobby's eyes flicker over him, as if uncertain that Sam could handle seeing his brother in the condition he was in. Well, considering what he had seen previously, his brother being wheeled out, pale and lifeless, Sam was pretty damn sure he could handle seeing him in a hospital bed. _

"_Well, I'm gonna go sit with him for awhile, until Sam's ready to get out of here," Bobby said, and left the room. When it was just John and Sam again, Sam turned to his dad. _

"_I mean it, Dad," he said, and John nodded. "We're doing this for Dean."_

"_Me too. Now let's get a nurse in here to check you out, and we'll get you up to see Dean."_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry about the stupid italics in the last couple chapters. Don't know what happened there.

xxxx

Now that he was here, Sam was not entirely sure that he _could_ handle it. Sitting in the uncomfotable plastic chair next to Dean's bedside, he allowed his head to drop tiredly into his hands, guiltily relieved that he couldn't see his brother anymore, but unable to block out the whoosh of the ventilator and the steady beeping of the heart monitor. They weren't sounds Sam was used to, and he could feel a lump growing in the back of his throat as he stared at Dean, his older brother and protector, lying still in the bed with a tube taped to his face, chest rising evenly with the cound of the ventilator.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and he turned to find his dad sitting in a wheelchair behind him. Equally embarrassed that John had been able to sneak up on him and surprised to see his dad in a wheelchair, Sam didn't even try to hide the despair that had started out as just a sneaking feeling and that had finally bloomed until it overwhelmed him.

"Son," John said softly, and Sam shrugged, not trusting his voice. "He's doing okay." There was an awkward pause, then a quietly added, "At least, considering…." John's voice trailed off awkwardly.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, doubting the validity of that statement. "He's just, so…"

"I know," John said, and Sam nodded, barely able to keep the tears forming in his eyes from falling down his cheeks. Damn, he had felt like a girl or a little kid more often in the past two days than in the entire rest of his life.

They sat in silence for a long while, both of them deep in their own thoughts, until they were gently ushered out of the room by a nurse.

"Dad, I want to stay with you," Sam said quietly, looking at the floor.

"No son, go with Bobby. I'm checking myself out tomorrow, and I don't want you staying here all night, okay?" Sam set his jaw, ready to argue, and John could see it starting, could feel his own temper rising- he managed to subdue the feeling, took a deep breath and spread his hands placatingly.

"Sam," he said quietly, and he could see his son hesitate for a momment before visibly relaxing, almost deflating.

"Okay," he murmured, and John sighed in relief. "Dad?" Sam looked up and met his eyes, questioning.

"Yeah, son," John answered, wondering what was bothering his youngest.

"Are you okay?" John frowned.

"Yeah, I told you I'd be outta here tomorrow, Sammy, just banged up my leg is all." Sam still didn't look convinced, and it took a bit for John to realize that he was referring to the wheelchair. He sighed to himself, realizing that it was out of character and that he should have said something to reassure his youngest.

"Sammy, I'm okay. Really. I just didn't want to argue with the nurses, not today. I'm tired, Sam, but I'm okay."

"Good," Sam said, nodding, then smiled as Bobby approached them.

"Hey there, Sam," he said, smiling jovially at him. "You ready to go?" Sam nodded, walking slowly to Bobby's side. He completely missed the look of gratitude and understanding that passed between the older hunters.

xxxx

The ride to the motel Bobby had booked was quiet. Sam hadn't wanted to leave the hospital at all, had wanted to fight his dad with everything he had, had wanted to demand that he stay with Dean, because wouldn't Dean stay with him? But he hadn't wanted to start anything, hadn't wanted to break the fragile alliance he and his dad had made.

"Your brother's going to be fine, Sam," Bobby said suddenly, turning his gaze from the road for just a second. "If there's anyone who can come out of damn near anything thrown at him, it's Dean."

"I know." Holy crap, Sam was getting tired of everybody reassuring him. Hadn't they seen him? Because he sure as hell didn't look 'fine' or anywhere close to it. He resumed his position staring out the window, somewhat relieved when they pulled into the motel parking lot. His head was starting to pound and he was tired and cranky and just wanted to sleep. Bobby moved to help him out of the truck but Sam pointedly shoved him off and walked in alone. With a sigh, Bobby followed him in. Damn stubborn Winchesters.

xxxx

John watched in frustration as his son slept silently. He'd woken for a moment, panicked in his uncertainty and nearly pulled out the vent before being sedated and drifting off again. Rubbing at his eyes, John found himself wondering what Mary would think if she could see him now. See him having to come to an agreement with his own son to stop fighting. See him sitting at the side of his other son, unconscious and wounded because of his own damn stupidity and stubbornness. He hadn't felt so low since just after her death.

Green eyes blinked sleepily open, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Dean? Can you hear me son?" He asked, instinctively grabbing at his son's hand as he started to panic. Dean was close to hyperventilation now, and John quickly hit the call button. "You're okay, Dean, you're alright," John murmured, stroking his thumb over Dean's forehead. Dean stared at him, his eyes conveying the anxiety and fear he felt, but also an immense trust that John didn't feel like he deserved.

"It's okay," he repeated, then stepped back as the nurses came in and moved him out of the way. He couldn't watch as they eased his son off the ventilator, could barely endure the painful gagging that seemed to border on retching. Then it was over, and Dean was breathing deeply, on his own, smiling wanly.

"Hey there, kiddo," John said, barely even aware that he had called Dean by the childish nickname.

"Hey," Dean answered, blinking at the raspy sound of his voice. "I sound like shit."

"You look like it too." Dean laughed hoarsely, a bark that made John wince. "Hey. Dean," John said, suddenly getting serious. "Why in the hell didn't you say anything to me? Or to the medics? You nearly killed yourself out there, son, and you had a few chances to get yourself looked at." Dean worked his jaw, looked down.

"Didn't want you to argue," he mumbled, and John sighed.

"That won't happen anymore, Dean," he said. "I promise. But you have to promise me that you won't do anything this stupid again. Got me?" Dean nodded even as his eyelids slid shut.

"Yeah Dad. Got you. M'tired," he slurred, and John smiled as his Dean fell asleep, his hand still wrapped tightly around his own.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! I really appreciate them.

xxxx

Sam was bouncing off the walls. Almost literally. Bobby sighed and wondered, not for the first time, how in the hell he had ended up babysitting for a fourteen year old who was antsy about his brother and who had been laid up for two days.

"Sam, you sure you don't want to watch a movie?" He asked again, hopefully; not like they had a big selection, but he was still convinced that Sam might want to watch _The Karate Kid_ or _Terminator_.

"No," Sam answered shortly, then went back to pacing around the tiny coffee table. Bobby guessed that he'd gone about fifty laps already, was a bit surprised that there was still carpeting where he'd been walking.

"What about something to eat?" Again, not much choice, but still, when didn't a PB&J sound good to a kid?

"No." Bobby was running out of options.

"Come on, Sam, what do you want to do?" Sam stopped in his pacing and made steely eye contact with the older hunter, who suddenly realized that he had set the kid up exactly as he wanted.

"I want to see Dean." It was said with a clenched jaw and fiery eyes, and Bobby realized that the kid wasn't just antsy, he was borderline dangerous. Damn, he acted just like John. Speaking of which, if John didn't call soon… Bobby shuddered. There might not be anybody left to call.

"Sam, you need to be patient, you hear? 'S not lie I can do anything to change how long it takes." Sam didn't appear to hear him, or at least gave no sign of caring, simply resuming his pacing.

"Bobby," Sam said suddenly, a frown on his face. "You really think he's going to be okay, right?" The look on his face spoke volumes, fear and trepidation and worry rolled into one expression, an expression that Bobby didn't think he should have to see on a face so young.

"Look, Sam, I don't know for certain, but I know that your brother is one of the stubbornedest sons of bitches I've ever known, and I honestly think that it's gonna take more than this to bring Dean Winchester down." Sam nodded and bit his lip, and Bobby could see his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"I think Dean is meant for bigger things, Sam, I really do." Sam snorted, then smiled.

"Yeah, I guess. He still hasn't banged a supermodel, so…bigger things, right?" Bobby chuckled, glad that, at least for now, Sam was somewhat calmed and that he had helped to comfort him. The boys meant more to him than anyone else, though Bobby would never admit it; any problems he had with John, and there were quite a few, took a backseat to the welfare of the youngest Winchesters. His phone rang suddenly, startling him out of his musings, and Sam was practically on top of him before he could even get the cell out.

"John?" Sam watched eagerly, scanning Bobby's face as he reacted to the call. Hanging up, Sam stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Well?" He demanded, breathing quickly. Bobby could see a slight tremor in his hands. Holy crap. He'd known the kid had taken it hard, but…he'd taken it _hard._

"Dean's awake." Sam blinked, then wavered, knees buckling. Bobby rushed to his side, caught him before he hit the ground. "You okay?" He asked in concern, and Sam looked at him in confusion.

"I'm good," he muttered. "Just got tired all of a sudden." Bobby nodded understandingly.

"Lot of adrenaline leaving at once will do that to ya," he said, gently helping Sam to his feet again. "Not to mention I'm pretty sure you've worked youself up into a headache. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted quietly, looking at the floor.

"Okay. Let's get you some pain meds and a little rest and you can see him." He could see the annoyance and stubborness creeping over Sam by the set of the jaw, and quickly moved to calm him. "Sam, he isnt' really awake yet, anyway. It was a few moments, max, and he went right back out. Just calm down, okay? You can see him when you're rested up." He held a hand out with the pain pills in it, eyebrows raised expectantly. Sam stared at him for a second before resignedly holding his hand out and accepting the offered meds, popping them in his mouth dry and lying down on the couch.

"Two hours, Bobby," he growled quietly, and Bobby nodded.

"Two hours."

xxxx

Two Hours and Fifteen Minutes Later

Dean was still pasty looking, a sick shade of gray, but he nowhere near as pale as he had appeared when he had been taken out of Sam's room, and he had a bit more color than the last time Sam had seen him. John was sitting at his side, clearly barely able to keep his eyes open, face scrunched slightly from the pain in his leg.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean croaked, and Sam shook his head.

"Sam. It's Sam." Dean smirked.

"Whatever." Sam wanted to say more but was uncertain of how to go about it with John still in the room, and Dean seemed the same way. Bobby's voice easing John out of the room to go get a cup of coffee with him suddenly registered and Sam realized that the older hunter was putting his own discomfort aside to allow them some privacy. He would have to thank him later.

"Dean, that was stupid," Sam said as soon as they were alone. "Like, really stupid. Like I can't even believe…" He trailed off in frustration, hands raised and fists beginning to clench.

"You almost died," he ended finally, voice small. Dean looked at him, flashed that grin that made Sam want to hit him in the face, then drew his brows together into a frown.

"I know," he said quietly, picking idly at the bed sheet. "I'm sorry." Sam slumped tiredly into the chair at Dean's side.

"Me too. I shouldn't have been arguing so much. Dean, you can't let yourself- You can't- what would I do if something happened to you?" He whispered, surprised when Dean nodded.

"Sam, I've been thinking on that," he started, looking at Sam with a half smile. "If I'm not around, who's gonna protect you?" And just like that, Sam's whole world shifted as he came to the realization, for the first time, of how much he meant to his brother. Of how much his brother depended on him being there, on being able to protect him. It was nearly overwhelming in its implications. Dean's whole world, whole reason for being, was for _him_. For a second, Sam couldn't breathe.

"Sam? Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean's voice was full of concern, and Sam had to take a second to regain some composure. Because he was _not_ okay. Dean should worry about himself, should care what happened to him not for Sam, but for _him_. And Sam knew then that Dean was his responsibility, just as he was Dean's, because he'd be damned if he was going to let his brother down when Dean obviously needed him so badly.

"I'm fine, Dean," he said finally, looking in a new light at his brother. His strong, tough, vulnerable brother. "Things are going to be different. I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews! I really appreciate getting them, and I'm glad you're enjoying thus far.

xxxx

Dean couldn't tell if the awkward lack of communication between his brother and his father was intentional or simply an oversight, but he was beginning to get damn tired of it. He was sprawled, not uncomfortably, in the backseat of the Impala, annoyed that he wasn't riding shotgun even as he nearly succumbed to the soothing smell of leather and the long bench that just beckoned for sleep…Still, no luck in the rest department, and he was stuck in the back with a stoically silent father and an awkwardly fidgety brother. Dean sighed. At least they weren't fighting, right?

"So. Uh, we'll be getting back to the motel and staying here for a bit, right?" Dean asked tentatively. It had definitely _not_ been his idea to lay low for a few weeks, but Bobby had seemed adamant, and John had given in far easier than Dean was expecting, conceding quietly that the older hunter had a point. John merely grunted in response to Dean's query now, and Dean sighed quietly.

"That'll be nice, right Samantha? Give you a chance to catch up on some schoolwork without the usual pressures."

"Yeah, it'll be nice, Dean." Dean sighed again, louder this time, and rolled his eyes. He almost, _almost_ preferred the fighting. What the hell was wrong with them anyway? Were they so incapable of being around each other without fighting that they just weren't talking? Maybe they were pissed off at each other. He'd been out of it for awhile and who knew what he'd missed. Or maybe they were just oblivious. Or, and the thought made Dean frown, maybe they were pissed at him, for the situation he'd gotten himself into. They'd seemed nice enough in the hospital, but maybe now that he'd been released, their anger was free to be unleashed on him. Dean rubbed a tired hand over his forehead.

"You know, you guys can talk to me. Or each other. I mean, you don't need to be having, you know, deep, chick-flick conversations, but a damn conversation shouldn't be too hard, right?" Dean knew that he sounded whiny, knew that he was probably getting on their nerves, demanding too much, but he didn't really care. And judging by the reactions of Sam and John, they probably hadn't even realized that their silence had been so noticeable or awkward. Dean thought that was almost more sad than if they'd been playing the silence game on purpose. When the hell had their family disintegrated to the point that not talking became so run-of-the-mill that no one even noticed?

They pulled into the pharmacy, John mumbling something about picking up antibiotics and pain killers for Dean before sliding out of the car.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, and it was pleading and- scared? Dean frowned.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Sam turned so that his head was peering over the front seat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. His eyes were wide and, Dean could see, teary. "I didn't mean to make you upset." Oh, great. Sam seemed afraid to raise his voice any louder than a whisper, and Dean realized that he was afraid of hurting him. He silently cursed himself for allowing himself to appear so vulnerable in front of his little brother. He was supposed to protect him, not the other way around.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm not gonna break if you guys argue or whatever, I just…I just wish you wouldn't. Really. I'm okay." Sam nodded, still seemed a bit uncertain, but content.

John came back to the car about that time, tossing the meds next to Dean in the back and closing the door with a creak.

"I, uh," his voice trailed off for a second before he tossed something at Dean and something else at Sam. Dean smiled as he realized that he was holding a bag of peanut M&Ms, figured that Sam was probably holding a Twix or a Reese's.

"Thanks," Dean said, ripping the bag open with fervor.

"Yeah Dad, thank you," Sam repeated, and there was more than thanks in his tone. Dean watched appreciatively as they shared a look, both nodding slightly as if in recognition of something. And as the Impala roared to life and thundered towards their motel, music blasting and John and Sam good-naturedly bickering about whether Black Sabbath or Metallica was better, Dean smiled. Things were looking good. For now.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean had known that it wouldn't last. He was actually kind of annoyed with himself for expecting things to turn out differently than they had, for actually thinking that it was possible to have a normal family with normal relationships, able to hold conversations about things without them becoming arguments. The first month, things had gone pretty well, conversation was light and mostly civil. Two months later and Sam would every once in awhile get a jab in to deliberately annoy John, and John was beginning to lose all patience. Three months led to increased arguing, four and they were back to the way they had been, five and they were screaming at each other, old standards like 'I hate you' and 'Why can't you just shut the hell up' making appearances. Six months after both Sam and John had pledged to Dean that 'things would be different' and that they would be getting along, they were worse than before. Dean was not happy.

John was gone on another hunt, this time for a few days in a neighboring state, something about a haunted warehouse or something that Dean was not pleased to be left out of. And Sam wasn't a whole lot better; he'd started resenting Dean for telling him what to do, frequently yelling at him that he wasn't John and that he damn well should stop acting like it. It was the first time in recent memory, hell maybe ever, that Dean could remember not wanting to be left alone with Sam. Usually it was a time when they would make fun of each other and get a few good wrestling matches in around watching movies and eating junk food. Usually it was a time when they could just be brothers, not hunters. Dean supposed that this was being brothers, the younger wanting to branch away from the older, the younger growing up, the older growing annoying. Didn't make it any easier on him.

"Dad's home," Sam muttered, not looking up from the table where he had his history book splayed out in front of him, nestled in a bed of notes and papers. Dean looked at him appraisingly; he'd sprouted up in the past few months, all arms and legs and hair, completely losing the little bit of baby fat that had made him adorable and irresistible as a youngster. He would be taller than Dean soon, though Dean wasn't about to let him know that, suspected he knew anyway.

"Yeah. Listen, Sam, I know you've been trying, I really do, but you and Dad, you've been getting on each other a lot, lately. I know you're trying, I know that, but you've got to stop baiting him, you've got to stop -getting on him for everything, Sam. He's trying. He's a good man, Sam, he's a good father-"

"How the hell can you defend him, Dean? How can you stand there and tell me he's a good father when you haven't been in one school for longer than three months in your entire life? When you nearly died less than a year ago? Damn it Dean, how the hell can you stand there and tell me that I need to stop 'baiting him?' I'm not baiting him! And I don't 'get on him for everything,' Dean! You argue with him too, you argue with me, but you get this holier than thou attitude 'cause you think you're so great, and you-" Dean, about three seconds away from losing his temper completely, was somewhat relieved when John walked through the door. He stood in the doorway, seeing his sons nearly coming to blows, stared at them for a second.

"I'm hitting the bar," he said, and walked back out. Sam whirled on Dean, continuing his tirade, ranting to the point where he was nearly worked up to tears, and Dean just stood there, annoyed and frustrated but eventually just zoning out and letting it wash over him. Until Sam brought Mom into it.

"-and you think that because you knew Mom, that makes you more intent on revenge, that my not wanting to spend every freaking moment chasing this thing down, that that means I don't love her as much, but I do, and you can't just keep using her as an excuse-"

"Sam! That's freaking enough! Shut the hell up!" Dean yelled finally, grabbing his younger brother by the collar and slamming him against the wall. "Listen to me, you can bitch about Dad, you can bitch about me, but the minute you start telling me that I don't really love Mom, that I'm _using her as an excuse_, you had better think twice, because I'm not gonna look the other way anymore. Understand?" Sam glared at him, eyes burning, and Dean glared back, feeling his teeth grinding and jaw clenching.

"Yeah," Sam spat, and Dean glared at him before letting him go and grabbing his leather jacket.

"I'll be back," Dean said, slamming the door behind him when he went.

xxxx

Dean walked into the bar, didn't even need to flash his fake ID. The joint was definitely shady enough that he wasn't surprised that they didn't seem to enforce the drinking age that much, expected to find a few more people as young as himself in there. But that wasn't why he went. Part of him looked forward to the nights when John returned from a long hunt, when they would talk about what happened over a beer, discuss appropriate weapons, responses, tactics. It was a time he thrived for, a time when he felt like an equal. And damn, he needed to be treated like a freaking equal about now.

He sat at the bar, ordered a beer and walked over to find his dad. He was hustling, not really any surprise there, and Dean sat back to watch John work his magic. What completely surprised Dean was that his father, usually one to play in silence, intimidating the people around him and generally just overwhelming them, was apparently drunk enough to be talking up a storm to the people around him. And he wasn't just talking.

"Yeah, I've been havin' a hell of a time with my boys," he slurred, and a few men nodded in consensus. "My youngest is like a, I dunno, like a ball of fire, just wantin' to burn up everything, fight with everything, you know? And my oldest, he got hurt a while back, and now he's turned into a pansy. Kid keeps complaining that I'm arguing with my other son, but he won't just man up and tell us to stop. Just sighs and drops hints and all. You'd think he was a woman…" Dean had heard enough. He was tempted to throw the empty beer bottle at his dad's head on his way out, but he contented himself with slamming it down onto the table hard enough to shatter it, hard enough to silence the entire bar. John looked up, and even in his drunken state, he could tell that he'd made a mistake.

"Dean-"

"Piss off." Dean shoved out of the bar, angrily slamming the door behind him. He didn't know where to go, his hand was bleeding because he'd apparently cut it on the beer bottle he'd smashed, and, he realized with a groan, his entire family, his whole world, hated him. It was a lot to take in, and Dean could feel the blood loss and alcohol and anger and sadness all combine, threatening to make him collapse, knees on the verge of buckling. He made it to a bench at a bus stop, waved the bus off as it stopped for him, finally allowed himself to sob. Maybe he was nothing but a pansy, maybe he was being a girl, but damn it, it hurt knowing that there was absolutely _no one in the entire world, who wanted to be around you, and he didn't care anymore as the tears flowed. _

_xxxx_

_He'd stomped into the room, eventually, blood still dripping from his hand, and roared at them, screamed that he wouldn't be playing peacemaker anymore, that they could kill each other for all he cared, just leave him the hell alone. It had been a long night. _

_The next few weeks were similar to the ones that had proceeded them, only Dean absolutely refused to become involved. It was hard, as he wanted to step in for Sam sometimes, remind John that he was still a teenager, and sometimes he thought that Sam was being absolutely and completely unreasonable, but he was so pissed off and wounded that he just let it go._

_He actually found himself heading to the library every time they fought, because no matter how piss-poor the town, there was always a place to read. He didn't even care that it was a nerdy, Sam thing to do, just read and read while his brother and father battled it out. _

_To say their relationships were strained was an understatement. _

_Now, as Dean stepped into the shower -25 cents for 5 minutes- and found it to be ice cold -they were staying in a camping cabin, not in town, but close enough to expect warm water, damn it- he knew that it was about to get a whole lot worse. Shivering, he was quick, lathering his hair and body, rinsing, and stepping out with his towel, but he knew that Sam liked long, luxurious showers, and that though there were three different stalls and he could in no way blame Dean for stealing all the water, he would not be happy. At all. And that John, after having completed a long, tiring hunt, and having found his normal solace in a lovely bottle of Jack Daniels, would not be pleased at his son's complaints. Not at all. Dean sighed and walked into the cabin. _

_It actually went way faster than he expected. One second Dean was sitting, flipping through limited, boring channels, his father watching the TV without interest, the next, Sam was barreling through the door, dripping wet and clearly furious. _

"_What the hell?" He screamed, and John lumbered to his feet more quickly than Dean thought possible, waving the beer in one hand. "We're staying in this piece of crap cabin where they don't even have hot water! Why can't we stay in a freaking house, Dad, like normal people?"_

"_Sam, you'd better shut the hell up before I shut you up!" _

"_Oh, yeah, because you can't handle anyone criticizing you, not you, John freaking Winchester! You're the worst father of all time! I hate you! I freaking-" Sam's comment was cut off as John slugged him across the cheek. Sam dropped, clutching at the side of his face, clearly caught off guard, while John advanced toward him. Dean leapt to his feet and shoved his father back, bodily blocking him from his younger brother._

"_Dad, we need to talk. Right now," Dean said lowly. _

"_I'm busy, Dean, it's gonna have to wait," John answered, not taking his eyes off of his youngest son. _

"_No Dad. This can't wait. Right. Now." Dean turned to Sam, who was picking himself off the floor, still holding a hand to his face. Dean could see blood on his hand and something in him snapped. _

"_Sam, get out of here. Why don't you go take a run around the campsite, huh?" _

"_Dean, I-"_

"_I mean it, Sammy. Get out." John laughed, looked at his oldest son, who was standing in a defensive position, hands clenched at his side. _

"_You don't have to Sam, I don't know what Dean thinks he's gonna do, but you can stay."_

"_Go, Sam." Sam looked between his father and his brother, one leaning drunkenly to one side, the other standing as if on the verge of fighting. Was this what Dean felt like? It took him a few seconds, a slight hesitation, then he slowly walked out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. He waited a second, looked at the closed door. He couldn't hear any yelling, so maybe everything was okay…He started running, too afraid to stop._


	7. Chapter 7

Dean stood angrily, defiantly in front of his father, but when he spoke, his words were calm and measured.

"Dad. This has to stop. Now." John peered blearily at him, anger rising.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" He demanded, words slurring slightly.

"Dad, I know you're our father, but if you touch Sam again, I'm going to stop you." John stared at him for a second, sensing the threat in his son's tone, surprised by the seriousness.

"You plan on stopping me, Dean?" He asked, smirking at the thought. He knew Dean was cocky, thought he was a good fighter, but his son was no match for him.

"If I have to."

xxxx

Sam ran his second lap, looked up in worry as he passed the cabin. Still no sound, and Sam was getting worried. Maybe his dad had killed Dean…He shook his head, laughed feebly at the thought. Of course he hadn't killed Dean, that was ridiculous. Sam shivered and started running again.

xxxx

"You'd better be able to back yourself up, boy, you make threats like that," John said, his voice low. To his surprise, Dean shifted into a defensive stance, raising his fists.

"I know."

xxxx

Sam cursed under his breath as it started to rain. He debated between staying out in the cold and wet and risking the cabin. He opted to keep running.

xxxx

The first punch caught John off-guard. He'd known his son was cocky, knew he thought he was a good fighter, but he hadn't been expecting the brutal right hook that smashed into his jaw and left it throbbing with pain. He lashed out with an uppercut, catching Dean under the chin, sure that the blow would stop Dean in his tracks. His son stumbled backwards, shook his head, and popped back up, sending blows raining towards John's torso and stomach. It took a second for John to find an opening, again impressed by how well his son guarded his face, then sent a devastating blow to Dean's nose. He felt the bone crack under his fist, momentarily realized how messed up it was that he was fighting his son, then sighed in relief as he saw Dean fall to the ground. At least it was over. As Dean came up again, sent a shoulder barreling into John's back, sending both of them over the table and onto the floor, John realized that he shouldn't be surprised. It was his son, after all.

xxxx

Sam shivered in the cool night air, rain cascading around him, wondering what the hell was happening. He couldn't believe that Dean was standing up so resolutely for him against their father, whose approval meant everything to his older brother. It was almost overwhelming, so Sam kept running.

xxxx

John shouldn't have been surprised when Dean grabbed the nearest chair and flung it at him, but as it struck him across the eyebrow, sending warm blood trickling down his face, John was.

xxxx

Sam was tired of waiting. He finished one more lap around the site, then ran up to the cabin. Now there were yells and grunts, and Sam could hear something smashing. Swearing under his breath, he ran to the cabin, threw the door open, certain that he would find a broken older brother on the floor. He stopped dead, staring in surprise at what he saw.

xxxx

John ached. Blood streamed from a cut over his eye, and he could feel pain in his ribs flare up. Maybe he was too old for this. Dean was standing opposite him, hunched awkwardly, nose still bleeding and favoring his right shoulder, but defiant, hands still in fists.

"Are we done here?" Dean asked quietly, and John wasn't sure how to answer. He stared at his son, at the boy who had suddenly become a man, and when had that happened? He was taller than John had realized, so focused on Sam sprouting like a weed that he had failed to notice the few extra inches Dean had gained in the last year. He was also lean and muscular, and John hadn't realized how strong his son had become since the accident.

"Yeah," he assented finally. They stood, staring awkwardly at the floor, when the door swung open.

"Holy hell," Sam muttered.

xxxx

They wrapped their bloody knuckles, silently stitched each other's wounds, bound ribs, applied ice to black eyes and swollen noses. Sam could hardly believe that his brother had fought his father, let alone held his own, and now they were patching each other up as if nothing had happened. It was strange, he thought, but at that point, he knew things were well and truly going to change. He could see it in John's eyes, a new respect for Dean, and consequently, for Sam. Because if Dean believed in Sam, there must be something to believe in. It made Sam sad even as it made him happy.


	8. Chapter 8

Things changed. There was still arguing, still definite tension between Sam and John, but Dean had finally begun to realize that there was no family without arguing. It was just…inherent. And though it took awhile and there were still painfully awkward moments, Dean got it eventually, got it and accepted it, realized that it was just part of his family, and therefore he loved it.

Time passed quickly after that, a blur of hunting and school and living and driving that snuck up until Sam was a senior in high school and Dean was 22 and Dean was beginning to realize that his family wasn't going to remain the way it was for too much longer. It started subtle at first, little things Sam said or did that made Dean think that his little brother wasn't planning on staying, and though John remained pretty much oblivious to it, Dean knew.

They were staying in a motel, again, this one nicer than most they'd inhabited, and it was the middle of the night. Dean was flipping tiredly through channels, frustrated from the lack of anything remotely entertaining, Sam sitting at the table, presumably doing homework for calculus or something. John was trying to sleep, but it wasn't easy in a room as small as theirs was.

"Hey," Sam said, joining Dean on the couch, offering him a beer. Dean took it with a grunt of acknowledgement, and Sam plopped down next to him.

"So. I, uh, I want to talk to you," Sam said quietly, and Dean raised his eyebrows.

"I'm listening. Shoot." Sam shifted awkwardly on the couch.

"Um, alone, Dean," he said, and a smile pushed at the corner of Dean's mouth.

"You mean in the old place?" He asked, and Sam nodded, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Dean stood up, stretching his arms above his head, and they walked outside, quietly shutting the door behind them. Still grinning and shaking his head, Dean stuck his key in the trunk of the Impala and opened it.

"Okay Sammy, you first," he said, motioning to the car, and Sam grinned and sat butt first on top of the false bottom. His feet dangled over the edge, towards the ground, and as Dean sat next to him, he could remember when they had done this as children, when they could both fit into it, bunched together and giggling as they talked in hushed tones.

"So, what's up, brother?" Dean asked, knowing the answer but wanting to give Sam a chance to talk. Sam took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, sighed.

"I'm going to Stanford next fall," he said quietly, holding out a letter, and even as Dean's stomach sank, he felt an overwhelming pride in his younger brother's achievement.

"Sammy…that's great," Dean said, grasping the letter, but his breath seemed to be gone and it came out quiet and subdued, but he hoped Sam wouldn't notice. As he watched his brother deflate almost visibly, Dean knew that Sam had noticed.

"No, Sam, I'm really, really proud of you," Dean said quietly, looking his brother in the eye. "Always knew you were gonna be something." For a minute, he swore he could see tears in Sam's eyes, but the next second they were gone.

"Thanks Dean," he whispered, and Dean smiled.

"Yeah. You know, you should be a lawyer," he said, and Sam laughed.

"Why, because I argue so much?"

"Well, yeah, and you're like a freaking genius." Sam laughed again.

"You really think I could, Dean?" He asked, and the smile faded from his face. For a moment, he looked vulnerable and pleading, and Dean smiled.

"Course I do, Sammy, you're like the nerdiest kid I know. That's gotta count for something, right?" Sam nodded, smiling. Dean studied him for a second, then cleared his throat.

"Sam. When are you going to tell Dad?" He asked quietly, and Sam looked down.

"I don't know, Dean. I, um, I might not tell him. I might just, you know, I might just go and then write him or something…"

"Whoa, you are not doing that, Sam," Dean said, his voice hardening. "You are not leaving me here to pick up the pieces when you ditch Dad without even a goodbye. You are not leaving me here to fix that, Sam, you gotta tell him. That'll break him, Sam, you know it will." Sam snorted, looking away from Dean.

"Yeah right, Dean, we both know that Dad could care less." Dean could feel anger rising like he hadn't for years.

"Shut up, Sam. You know that's a lie. Yeah, Dad might like having me around to help on hunts and to share a drink, but he's damn proud of you, Sam. He likes me, yeah, but he damn near worships you, Sam. Have you seen how proud he is of you? He loves you, Sam. You're everything. You tell him, Sam. You cannot leave me to do that, Sam, you can't." Sam didn't answer, ground his teeth in frustration and swung his long legs out of the trunk and onto the floor. He didn't say anything as he stalked back towards the motel, and Dean sighed as he followed him, slamming the trunk closed behind them, tucking the forgotten letter into his pants pocket.

xxxx

A week later, and Sam had yet to say anything to John, and things were tense again. Dean had tried to talk to Sam again with little success, his brother's stubborn wall difficult to penetrate.

"Sammy, come on, stop being a girl. You've been avoiding me for a week now." Sam made no reply, and Dean sighed.

"Seriously man, come on," he said, settling himself at the table across from his younger brother. "I know you're pissed at me, but that doesn't change things. I am proud of you, Sammy, but you have to tell Dad. You have to."

"Dean, just get off my back, okay? I don't need this from you!" John's head popped out of the bathroom, steam billowing out, and he looked confused and pissed.

"What the hell are you two yelling about?" He demanded loudly, and Sam ducked his head as Dean shrugged, a thin smile on his face.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he said, shooting a look at Sam. "Whether Jessica Alba or Halle Berry is hotter." John shook his head.

"Well, you boys had better keep the volume down, got it?" Both boys nodded, and John's head disappeared inside the bathroom again. A second later, it emerged a second time.

"Halle Berry," he said, and the door slammed shut. Dean looked at Sam with raised eyebrows.

"Halle Berry, huh?" He asked, a smirk playing over his lips, and Sam smiled slightly.

"I'm sorry, Dean, didn't mean to lose my temper."

"Whatever, Princess. It's cool. Doesn't change things." He laughed to himself as he could practically hear Sam's eyes rolling behind him.

xxxx

Sam was just drifting off to sleep, Dean's snores wafting gently over him, when he heard something slamming in the kitchen of their small room. Dean's snoring stopped abruptly with a startled snort, and he saw his older brother sit bolt upright.

"What the hell?" Sam heard him mutter as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed. Muffled shouting was now audible and Sam had a sinking feeling he knew what was going on. Dean was halfway to the door now, Sam right behind him, and they could hear snatches of the ranting going on.

"damn…lying…Stanford…" Both boys stopped dead in their tracks.

"Oh, sh-" Dean started, but he was cut off by a bruising blow to his face that sent him careening into the wall.

"You bastard! You left the letter out! You told him!" Sam screamed, sending another blow to Dean's face. Sam was so overwhelmed with rage and frustration and, though he wouldn't admit it, fear, that he was almost completely unaware of himself, was surprised when he realized that his knuckles were bleeding and Dean was on the ground beneath him.

"You done yet, Sammy?" Dean spat, anger burning in his eyes. But he hadn't fought back, and Sam couldn't figure it out. This was the same brother who had held his own against their father. Sam knew that Dean could kick his ass if he wanted to, so why the hell..? Sam scrambled off of his brother, looking at him in bewilderment.

"Why didn't you do anything?" He asked in confusion, shaking his aching fists. Dean sat up, wincing. He didn't answer, instead focusing on his injuries. His tongue snaked out and touched the blood from his split lip, a frown crossing his features along with a small hiss. Sam stared for a second then threw the door open, completely forgetting for the moment what was waiting outside.

"Sam!" John barked, waving the letter in his hand. "What the hell is this shit? Answer me!" Sam couldn't remember ever seeing his dad so pissed before, and he couldn't help the shiver that went down his spine.

"Dad, I-"

"You planning on telling me about this?" John stepped forward, hand raised, and Sam cringed backward instinctively. He was startled when he bumped into something.

"Dean?" He whispered. He turned and saw his brother standing there, blood and what he realized were tears running down his face.

"No Dad," Dean said quietly, and his voice cracked in the middle and Sam couldn't help the tears from running down his own face as he realized that his older brother, who he had mistrusted, who had taken his punches and who was hurt as much by Sam's decision as their father, his older brother was defending him still. And Sam knew that he wasn't good enough for his brother, that he had never been good enough. How in the hell had someone like him gotten an older brother like Dean? He simply was not worthy.

"I've-I've got to go," he gasped, the overwhelming knowledge hitting him like a physical blow.

"No, Sam-" Dean called, desperation evident in his voice.

"Sam! You walk out now, you don't come back!" John bellowed, and for a second, everything stopped. The yelling and confusion that had reigned came to a complete stand still until Dean had to wipe a stream of blood from his nose to keep it from dripping onto the carpet.

"Sorry Dad," Sam whispered, and started throwing his few possessions into his beat up suitcase. John turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him, doubtlessly going to the bar to get drunk.

"Sammy, please," Dean whispered, and it nearly broke Sam's heart. But he knew it was now or never, and he had to go. He had to.

"Dean, I'm going. And, um…" He had to pause to collect himself, ecause he knew that Dean wouldn't understand what he was about to say, but Sam had once vowed to himself to protect Dean as Dean protected him, and he had finally realized that he himself posed the biggest threat to his older brother. "And Dean, I don't want you to contact me, okay? Just…just leave me alone." He couldn't look at his own brother, kept his eyes glued to the suitcase which now sat, stuffed to the brim on the bed. Couldn't watch his brother crumble and break because he knew, knew instinctively that that was what was happening. Knew that Dean could handle his leaving, had encouraged him even, but had been completely caught off guard by the fatal blow that Sam had dealt. He had to leave.

"I love you," Sam whispered, grasping his brother in a bear hug without making eye contact, and he was terrified and frustrated by the limp body he hugged, the body that didn't respond and didn't react. "Dean…"

Dean didn't answer for a second, then turned to Sam.

"Get out of here," he said, and Sam had never heard his brother use that tone on him, that tone of loathing and hatred and hurt that Dean never, ever, used on him. Sam picked up the bag, felt tears flowing, and walked out the door, closing it gently behind him.

xxxx

Dean watched him go, started crying again, when had he become such a girl? He found himself on the floor, gasping with sobs, heaving thin bile as the scene played out again in his mind. His own little brother, didn't want to talk to him? Where the hell had he gone wrong? What the hell was he supposed to do now? And as he retched on the floor, Dean Winchester wished that he could hear his brother and father argue again.

xxxx

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! As always, much appreciated.


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